


Avec Plaisir (With Pleasure)

by vetiverite



Series: Les Enfants Gâtés [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 17th Century, Ancien Regime AU, Banter, Bickering, Consensual Kink, Decadence, Dirty Talk, Injury Recovery, Lovers' Quarrel, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sex Games, Spanking, Unrelated Fíli and Kíli, kiss and make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: Prince Fili has been injured, and his lover Vicomte Kili is nowhere to be found.  This will NOT do.  Cue the pouting.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Series: Les Enfants Gâtés [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200584
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18
Collections: GatheringFiKi - 12 Days Of Christmas 2020





	Avec Plaisir (With Pleasure)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for GatheringFiKi's 12 Days 2020 Challenge, inspired by the following photoset:
> 
>   
> 

_But Monseigneur, you cannot rise from your couch,_ said Baron de Oindre-Benoît, personal physician of Philippe-Marie Roland d’Or, Prince de la Nièvre, who did not take the admonition kindly.

Fili (as he liked to be called, but only by those worthy of the honor) had stumbled in the act of dismounting his steed at hunt’s end. Now he reclined upon a mountain of silken pillows, restless and sullen, his dignity as much bruised as his ankle. 

_Everyone saw it,_ he muttered. _All of my guests. Had it not been Marguerite_ – his favorite mount – _I would have turned the damned horse loose in the woods to be devoured by wolves._

Oindre-Benoît knew that it was no use defending Marguerite, who had been standing perfectly still at the time. 

Fíli sunk down lower on his great golden bed, glaring up at the fluted folds of the brocade bed canopy. Comely as he was – with rich golden tresses and a profile as fine as any the ancient Greek sculptors gave their gods – pain gave his features a devilish look. Or perhaps that was simply his true self shining through. Like most princes of the Sun King’s court, Fíli was a spoilt brat, displaying a foul temper when things did not go his way. No confection his chefs could devise, no diversion his major-domo could arrange would sweeten his bitter mood.

 _Perhaps a mild tonic would ease my lord,_ ventured Oindre-Benoît. _We have lately received samples from England of a new remedy called laudanum. It is made from opium mixed with crushed pearls and precious ambergris—_

_No! Brandy and meringues!_

_May I suggest a healthful spiced wine instead of brandy…?_ At a sharp glance from his patron, Oindre-Benoît adjusted his prescription. _And as many meringues as you like._

This won him the tiniest of smiles. Fili tended towards miserliness with his favors; one really had work hard to earn them.

 _I want Kíli,_ the young Prince now pouted.

This was his special name for his special friend, the Vicomte de Quilhan-Vidourle. The two had been inseparable ever since the _fête_ at Vaux-le-Vicomte last August. No sooner had the fireworks died out over the forecourt than their hands were in each other’s breeches.

Who dared blame Fili? Any Prince able to have what he wanted would want what this Prince had. There wasn’t a noble tongue in France that did not loll and pant at the memory of Kíli in the _tableaux vivants_ at Chantilly. Well, everyone who was _anyone_ took part—but only the dark young Languedocian lord had the courage to pose utterly naked but for a single veil that highlighted more than it hid. And anyway, there was scarcely enough fabric to conceal a manhood the size of Kíli’s. _Mon Dieu!_ No wonder the Prince was cross when he could not have it!

But Quilhan-Vidourle had rolled from their bed at dawn. He left the _château_ soon thereafter and had yet to return or even send word. Such capricious whims were common to him. Overall, the Vicomte was a tonic to Fíli’s mood, but at times it seemed his only aim was to vex and torment.

 _Why has he not come to me?_ Fíli cried. _Certainly he is aware that I have suffered a grievous injury. I must have Kíli by my side!_ Again the Prince attempted to rise and was gently pressed back down by his attendants.

 _I will send for him,_ _Monseigneur,_ soothed Oindre-Benoît.

_He has already been sent for, and he has not come! If he is not here within the next minute, he shall be flogged!_

_In your present condition, milord, I do not think you are up to the task,_ the doctor sagely replied.

It was well-known, though never discussed aloud, that the pair enjoyed certain pastimes involving a tasseled riding whip. It remained unclear who wielded and who received, for they both appeared equally satisfied with the result.

 _I suppose you’re right,_ Fíli grumbled, waving away the servants to fetch him the wine and meringues. _And I can’t ask you, Baron, for Kíli would never allow anyone but me to do it_. He then dropped his chin to his chest and gazed up through his lashes, innocent as a cherub.

 _He likes it, you know,_ he drawled. _A good whipping. It stimulates him—_ riles _him, really, to the point of savagery. Thus provoked, he becomes like a bull in rut—so completely intent upon release, nothing can stand in his way._ Fíli yawned. _If you remember the scene at Chantilly, I needn’t tell you how…_ excessive _he is. I’m sore for days. Is there a remedy for that?_

Oindre-Benoît smiled indulgently. _Of course, Monseigneur: more of the same._

Fíli laughed, stretching his arms above his head and letting the rich folds of his voluminous, gold-embroidered dressing gown fall as they may. _You may keep your laudanum and mulled wine, Baron. The medicine Kíli gives me works best— and I must say, it tastes far better than any potion you can brew._

A footman now entered the room, looking harried. He did not even get a syllable of announcement out of his mouth before Kíli himself burst into the room, stripping off his long, black leather gloves. 

A whirlwind, a wildfire, a lightning storm contained in the body of a man— this was the Vicomte de Quilhan-Vidourle, so graceful and enchanting to behold, God Himself would pardon any villainy to obtain a second look. Like his princely lover, Kíli defied the current style of wearing an elaborately curled wig, instead letting his own tousled dark mane flow free. His sultry, imperious gaze… the insolent curl of his lips… the cocky aggression of his stride, like that of a swordsman entering a duel… who could look away?

Today Kíli looked especially fetching in a green velvet _justaucorps_ – tunic, coat, and breeches – adorned with rows of brocade buttons and crossed by a gold velvet baldric. From the coat’s deeply cuffed sleeves and the tunic’s high collar spilled torrents of ivory lace. Tight thigh-high riding boots in supple black leather accentuated Kíli’s long, powerful legs; the matching gloves made a whipcrack sound as he beat them briskly against his open palm.

Mon chaton, _my Kitten!_ he bellowed _. I am come!_

 _Get out, damn you,_ came Fíli’s riposte. 

_If that’s to be my welcome, perhaps I will go..._

_Don’t you DARE!_

So went their lovetalk, much as usual, and everyone knew how _that_ would end. A sheen of sweat broke out on the footman’s brow, and he began to inch away.

 _Do not lash out at me!_ thundered Kíli. _You know full well that I am to play Balthasar in the Marquise de Lamoignon’s Nativity pantomime. The costume fitting took longer than expected—_

 _Oho, and did it include the outfit you wear now?_ Fíli had sat straight up and crossed his arms like an angry child. _I have never seen it before._

 _Don’t you like it?_ Kíli turned in a circle to show off the flare of the coat. _You admire me in this color; you’ve always said so. I myself thought it looked so fine that I felt compelled to wear it home. Consider it my Christmas gift to you._

_I do not care what you wear, and there are other gifts I deserve from you! If you love me, I demand that you see to me now and assuage the pain I’ve borne alone for so long!_

Kíli’s mischievous eyes turned eager. _With pleasure._

Off came the baldric and coat and jabot; the shirt was torn open, and the boots stayed on. As Kíli set one knee on the bed, he tugged at both of the satin ropes that held the heavy bedcurtains back. They came down with a thump, and behind their sheltering layers came the sounds of mingled ire and desire.

_Watch out for my ankle, you oaf!_

_Is it your ankle alone that you wish me to pay attention to, mon chou-chou?_

_God in heaven, stop TALKING, damn you, and KISS— ME— THERE!_

With that, Oindre-Benoît motioned to the footman to exit as discreetly as possible. He followed, for his work here was done.

Soon enough, a cure would come.


End file.
